Crash
by JoeyBug
Summary: House is good at hiding things even when they may kill him. HouseWilson Slash. Angsty
1. Chapter 1

Title: Crash

Author: Joey

Pairing: House/Wilson kinda pre-slash, if you squint you can see it

Rating M for adult situations

A/N/ Kinda AU, but more just me taking advantage of my artistic license. Tad Angsty at times

If only she hadn't asked how he'd known, then maybe the whole thing could have been avoided. Except, she bhad/b asked and then she'd guessed and then it was over. He knew then that he'd blown any chance of being with her and he wasn't sure what hurt more, that or knowing that if he'd just resisted the chance and had not looked into that file then maybe they could have been House and Stacy again, like Wilson was Wilson and Julie - couples, names running together like they'd been washed on too high a temperature.

If she hadn't asked then they could have been HouseandStacy and could have gone out with WilsonandJulie and life would have been just perfect, sickenly so.

Yet, no matter how good a doctor he was, House could not change the past so instead he drank, and went for a long ride on his bike. He wasn't over the limit, he hadn't take that much Vicodin before he'd climbed onto his motorcycle and he wasn't speeding. So, techinically, he should have been able to take the corner, yet, for some reason, unknown to him he just didn't manage it.

Even though he was wearing bike leathers he could feel the gravel rip open his bad leg, shit that was gonna hurt in the morning. He tumbled and slid with the bike as it landed and dragged him along with it. When it came to a stop, he was dazed but relatively unhurt, he checked himself over and found no broken bones and nothing that should require a trip to the ER. Of course, there could be something he couldn't see, but the chances of that happening at the speed he was travelling was mighty slim.

He pulled himself out from under his bike, hissing with pain as the handle scrapped across the open and bleeding cut on his leg. It took a lot of force to rip open leathers which is why most bikers wore them - they were perfect for protecting yourself from stupid injuries like the one House was sporting now. Of course, they failed at times and his had been a fair few years old which is probably why he would be taking home half the road with him. Pretty shitty sovenier.

He looked round, hoping to spot some kind motorist that would give him a ride back into town without painicking and making him go via an ER. If he went to the ER, Wilson would be called and the last thing he needed right now was to be interrogated about why he was out riding after having drunk.

Shit, his leg hurt. He felt the pockets of his jacket until he came across his Vicodin, pulling it out and popping the cap off he swallowed two to take the edge of his injuries.

Luck was on his side that night - though it might not have seemed that way because a man stopped once he'd seen House slouched on the floor by his bike. He came running over, cell phone in hand.

"Stay still, I'm calling an ambulance," he said, trying to sound calm when he was anything but.

"No, it's okay, I'm fine. I'm a doctor," House told him, mustering up his highest level of social skills that he could find.

"It's probably better to get checked out though, your leg looks pretty cut up. It could be broken."

"It's fine, I can walk, it just hurts where I've hit the gravel. Can you just give me a lift into town so I can get home?"

The man looked at him funny, then at his cell phone and then back at House. "You're sure you're okay?" he asked, sounding slightly relieved that he wouldn't have to deal with the paramedics or the police.

"I wouldn't lie about a thing like this," House told him, giving him his best smile

"Okay," the man said, putting away his cell phone. He leant down to help House stand and was pushed away.

"I said I was fine," House snapped, wincing as he put weight on his leg. He noticed the man staring at his limp and before he could start twittering on about paramedics he said, "old college injury, I always limp."

The man nodded, and led the way to his car. He didn't ask any more questions as he drove House back to his place.


	2. Chapter 2

Wilson was sat on House's doorstep when the strange car pulled up and House got out. He watched as his friend limped to the doorstep, not having noticed Wilson's prescence at all.

"What the hell happened to you?" Wilson asked when he saw House's cut open leg.

"Fell off my bike," House muttered, he'd really hoped he could have avoided a conversation like this.

"Are you hurt?" Wilson asked, sounding concerned.

"No, I'm peachy, I normally have half a road stuck in my leg," House snapped as he opened the door and hobbled inside, closely followed by Wilson.

"Okay, okay, stupid question. Grab your spare cane and we'll get going?"

"Where?"

"The ER, you need to get checked out."

"Have a nice time, I'm not going."

"You could have concussion, internal bleeding, broken bones and that leg is going to need some serious cleaning and probably x-rays," Wilson told him, exsaperated.

"I got the guy who picked me up to stop at the pharmacy, I'll clean it and then I'm going to bed. I am not going to the ER, it's a waste of time. I'm a doctor, I'd know if there were something majorly wrong with me."

Wilson looked at his friend, not at all surprised by his response. "Just let them..."

"NO ER," House interrupted, making a growling noise that signalled that the conversation was over.

"At least let me check you over, I've got my medical bag in the car," Wilson said, as way of a compromise.

"What are you doing here anyway?" House asked, ignoring the offer.

"Julie kicked me out for a few days, thought I could crash here."

"Whatever, grab the couch, I'm going to bed."

"Greg, please, let me just check you over and then I promise I'll leave you alone," Wilson said, again, trying to hide the pleading in his voice.

"You just want to touch my body," Greg murmured.

"Yeah, I want to molest you, can I just?"

"Fine, but make it quick, I'm exhuasted." Wilson nodded and left to grab his medical bag from the car. While he was gone, House popped another two Vicodin, they just weren't hitting the pain in his leg and the other various aches and pains that you usually get when you fall off your bike at thirty miles per hour. They'd kick in soon enough and once he'd satisfied Wilson he could get some much needed, uninterupted sleep.

He heard a car door slam, and then his own front door slam and footsteps. He didn't remember closing his eyes but he was just so damned tired.

"Greg? You still with me?" Wilson asked, his voice laced with concern.

"Greg isn't here right now, he's sleeping, call back in a few hours or leave a message after the beep...beeep," House murmured, drifting as the last two Vicodin kicked in and took him to a place where it didn't hurt nearly as much.

Wilson shook his shoulder and he opened his eyes. "Come on, you can lie on your bed while I check you over."

"I don't put out until at least three dates," House quipped. He tried to stand, but pain seared through his leg and he felt himself falling. Wilson was quick enough to grab him by the arm and steady him.

"You sure you don't want to go to the ER? They'll give you a sticker if you're a good boy," Wilson said. It wasn't that he didn't trust House to tell him something was wrong, it was more than in the fifteen minutes he'd been home, he'd gotten very pale and very sleepy which made him think concussion at least, if nothing else.

"No ER," was Greg's dopey reply.

Somehow between the two of them they managed to get Greg into his bedroom, out of his leathers and onto his bed. House closed his eyes the moment his head hit the pillow and Wilson looked over his friend, assessing the damage.

His left and right jean legs were torn open and alongside the scar from his operation there was a significant amount of gravel burn, he knew that he'd have to use some tweezers to get some of the gravel out before it could be dressed to minimise an infection. His main concern was House's level of consiousness, he knew his friend wasn't stupid enough to ride without a helmet but the way he'd seemed overcome with tiredness worried him.

He rummaged through his bag and brought out a penlight, clicking it on he shook House gently. "Come on, House, open your eyes for me," he said.

"G'way," House mumbled. Wilson reached over and forcefully opened House's left eye, shining the light into it. He did the same with the right and saw nothing there that worried him. 

"Squeeze my hands, Greg," he said, taking hold of each on. House ignored him. "Come on, sooner you do it, sooner I can piss off and leave you alone.

House sighed deeply and squeezed Wilson's hands tightly. "Told you, I'm fine, just tired."

"I believe you," Wilson lied. "I've gotta clean that leg though, it looks pretty nasty."

"Do the left one, leave the right."

"The right one is worse."

"Touch it and I'll break your fingers."

"House, let me do it, or I'm taking you down to the ER," Wilson told him, his voice stern and even House, in his semi-comatosed state knew he was serious.

"Fine, but let me take some Vicodine first," he muttered. He dug it out and popped one pill in his mouth, he knew he shouldn't be taking as much as he had but there was a niggling pain in his stomach and his back and he did not relish being in pain, besides, what was the worst that could happen? 


	3. Chapter 3

Wilson had prepared a bowl of cold water, dug out some sterile bandages and had tweezers ready to start digging the gravel out of House's right leg - the left one hadn't been so bad, but the right one seemed to have been the one he landed on and had taken the brunt of the accident.

"You ready?" he asked House, who was still pretty much out of it.

"Hmm," he murmured, which Wilson guessed was going to be the closest he got to an answer. He soaked some gauze and starting at the bottom of the leg, he gently wiped some of the dried blood, teasing out some of the in-bedded gravel with the tweezers as he worked. House tensed, winced and then grab his leg.

"Stop, please, just stop, it hurts way too much," House whined, his face pale and sweaty.

"ER," was all Wilson said.

"Just, just let me get some rest first and then you can clean it, I promise I won't complain or anything, I just need some sleep first."

Wilson thought about it, House had been pretty much right about having no serious injuries and it was obvious that it was going to cause him a tremendous amount of pain to have his leg cleaned up so what was wrong with letting him rest a bit first? Except, Wilson couldn't shift the niggling doubt that there was something really wrong if House was suddenly so tired.

"I'll let you rest, but I'm going to come and check your neuro obs every 15 minutes okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Do it my way or ER way," Wilson told him sternly.

"I'm fine," House repeated.

"I'm serious, Greg, I will dial 911 and admit you myself."

"Fine, just let me sleep." Wilson nodded to himself and left House alone to catch whatever sleep he could manage in a fifteen minutes period. He sank onto the couch and put his head in his hands. This was not how it was supposed to have gone.

He'd lied to Greg as to why he was on his doorstep; Julie had kicked him out, but not for a few days - for good. He'd been unable to lie to her this time when she'd asked him why there were porn sites in his Internet cookies. And not just any porn sites, these were male on male ones and it seemed pointless to continue to lie to his wife and in some respects himself. He hadn't planned on telling House how he felt, at least not straight away because he had no idea how he would react, if he was honest with himself he loved House as more than a friend and had done for a while and although he knew that House was definitely not completely straight, it was impossible to tell if he felt the same way - especially since Stacy had completely and utterly fucked House up as far as relationships went.

He looked at his watch and headed back to check on House. He was moaning in his sleep and had rolled onto his left side, his arm clutching at his stomach.

"Greg," he said, shaking his friend awake. "I just need to check your neuro obs." He fished out his penlight and checked House's pupils - they were fine. He grabbed both of his hands within his own and asked Greg to squeeze them. House did, but there seemed to be more of a weakness than there had been the time before.

He shook House again. "Greg, squeeze my hands," he said, loudly.

"Am," Greg said, sleepily.

"Seriously?"

"G'way, need sleep."

"Greg, wake up," he shook his arm some more, but there was no response. Okay, NOW he was worried. He shone his penlight in Greg's eyes once more and noticed how small the pupils were. How much Vicodin had he taken?

"Jesus, Greg, wake up," he shouted, roughly shaking him.

"I'm here," Greg said, his eyes opening slightly. "I'm fine."

"How much Vicodin have you taken today?"

"Enough."

"How much?"

"I forget."

"Christ. I'm calling an ambulance."

"Promised," was all House said as he slipped back into unconsciousness.

"Yeah, that was before I realised you were doped up to the eyeballs. Greg, stay with me."

"Had to."

"Had to what?"

"I had to take it all, it hurt."

"Your leg? Of course it hurt, you brought home half of the road with you."

"Feel sick," Greg murmured, turning on his side as he lost the battle with his stomach. Wilson helped him stay on his side until he had stopped vomiting. "T'hurts," Greg moaned.

"Your leg?" Wilson asked, still trying to decide if he could handle House at home or whether he needed to involve Cuddy.

"Stomach," House said, his voice almost a whisper.

"Lie back, let me have a look," Wilson said, all traces of anger gone because his friend was in some serious pain, the man he loved was in serious pain and he wanted to make it go away.

He helped Greg lie back on the bed, his mouth still covered with tinges of vomit, a reddish brown covering his lips. That was what worried Wilson the most, that the vomit had blood in it, quite a bit of blood - something wasn't right here and he didn't really know what. As he helped House roll up his shirt, he pulled his cell phone from his bag and dialled Cuddy's number. He didn't pressed send straight away, wanting to know more about what was going on before he alerted the hospital.

"I'm gonna press down on your stomach, Greg, okay?"

"T'hurts."

"I know, but I've got to know what's going on so I know what to tell the paramedics." No matter what protest House might have wanted to put up, the fight left him as the pain took its grip, he knew there was no way he could ignore this especially not with Wilson there.

Wilson looked at the purple bruise forming on House's stomach and started to gently press around it. House yelped in pain, his body tensed and Wilson knew that it wouldn't be too long before he started to cry out in pain.

"I'm sorry, Greg, I just got to know what's going on."

"Stoppit," House said, trying to bat him away but not having the energy to even do that. Wilson stepped back from House and picked up his cell phone. He'd call the paramedics first and then Cuddy.

"911, what is your emergency?"

"My name's Dr. James Wilson and I work at PPTH, I need an ambulance for one of my patients. He's got a severe concussion, possible Vicodin OD, tender abdo, vomited blood, his GCS is about 11, but I'm not pleased with it."

"Okay doctor, the address?"

As James called the ambulance and Cuddy to fill her in, Greg felt himself slipping in and out of it. He heard parts of the conversation and wanted to argue that it wasn't a Vicodin OD, he hadn't taken too much, if it had stopped hurting then that would have been right but it still hurt pretty damn much. He felt the bile rise in his throat before he could say anything and he just didn't have the energy to move.

"Hang on, Cuddy, I gotta roll him," Wilson said, dropping the phone and rolling House just as he started to vomit again. It was blood this time, pure and simple and it confirmed to Wilson that he'd done the right thing in calling an ambulance.

He kneeled on the bed so that his left knee was wedged in Greg's back, keeping him on his side in case he vomited again.

"Sorry, Lisa, I gotta go, just have a room ready for him with everything I asked for, okay?"

"Sure thing, just keep him alive until he's here and then I'll kill him." Wilson would have laughed at her comment if he hadn't been scared for House.

"Greg, can you hear me?" he asked, re-assessing his friend. There was no response and Wilson leaned over his body, Greg's eyes were closed.

"Christ, Greg, why couldn't you have just told me you hurt yourself worse in the crash, why do you have to be so stubborn all the time. I left Julie today, I finally admitted to her that I love you, I was going to tell you but then this happened and if you can't even trust me to tell me you're hurt how can you love me?"

There was a knock at the door and Wilson propped House on his side with pillows before going to let the paramedics in. "He's been sick twice, GCS is down to 8, he needs fluids and o2," Wilson told them, heading over to House's side and feeling for his pulse, it was slow and faint which just worried him more.

"Shouldn't we get him to the hospital, Dr. Wilson?"

"I want him stable before he's moved, Cuddy is ready for us anytime." Wilson told them. He motioned for one of the paramedics to try and start a line while he set up the oxygen.

"Come on, Greg, don't do this to me," he said, staring at House's unconscious form. 


	4. Chapter 4

They couldn't get a line, his body was shutting down and Wilson didn't know if it was down to the OD, or the internal bleeding that he was pretty sure was happening.

"I'll start a central line when we get there," Wilson said, getting House ready to move onto a gurney.

"I thought you wanted him stable first?"

"Yeah, but he's getting worse and I'd rather he didn't bleed out on his bed." He rolled House onto a bed sheet and signalled for the paramedics to grab the other side so that they could lift him onto the gurney. Once there Wilson fussed over the oxygen mask. "Let's go," he told the paramedics, grabbing his bag as he followed them out.

They managed to get House into the ambulance without incident and Wilson climbed in so that he could monitor Greg's condition. He kept his eye on the oxygen saturations and the lowering blood pressure, which confirmed his thoughts that House was bleeding somewhere.

He checked his pupils as they bounced along through the journey from House's apartment to PPTH, they were still small, but at least they weren't any worse. He shook House's shoulders, no response. He ran his knuckles over House's chest and got a groan.

"Greg? Come on, buddy, open those eyes," he said, but there was no response from House. "How much longer till we're there?" he asked the paramedic who was driving.

"'nother few minutes. Want me to put the siren on?"

"Not unless we hit traffic," Wilson replied. The rest of the journey passed uneventfully. It felt like hours before they pulled up at the entrance to PPTH, but in reality it had only been a few minutes. Cuddy was waiting for them at the entrance and led the way to the room she had prepared.

"Any improvement?" she asked, as they walked alongside the gurney.

"Nope, he's responding to pain, but he won't wake up. His blood pressure is dropping, I'm pretty sure he's bleeding somewhere."

"I'll page surgery," Cuddy said, nodding. "Through here." They lifted House from the gurney and onto the bed. The paramedics left with their gurney and Wilson dumped his bag before heading to House's side.

He lifted his shirt and started to feel around the massive bruise that had grown on House's abdomen. "It's distended."

"Surgery are on their way," Cuddy said, giving him a worried look. "You said something about a Vicodin OD?"

"His pupils are pin point. He took some while I was there but I don't know how much he had before then," Wilson explained. "I'll draw some blood while we wait."

"His leg looks pretty bad, might be an idea to x-ray it."

"He needs an ultrasound anyway, I don't want him moved until he's stable so any x-rays will have to be portable." Wilson turned and grabbed the supplies out of the drawer so that he could insert a central line and get some blood out of House.

"Central line?" Cuddy asked.

"His body's shutting down, he needs fluids, blood and probably a stomach lavage."

"I'll get everything ready," Cuddy said, leaving Wilson to work on House.

Wilson sighed and started to undress Greg so that he could get access to his chest. "Why do you do this to yourself?" He swabbed the area with an alcohol wipe and prepared the needle and line. He couldn't help but talk to his friend as he worked.

"Sharp stick, Greg." He threaded the line in, drawing some vials of blood before hooking him up to the fluids hanging on the IV pole. At least now they could replace the blood he was losing.

Cuddy re-appeared pulling along a trolley which had an ultrasound machine on it, underneath on a shelf was a lavage kit.

"I thought it would be better if we did this, stop the rumour mill. You realise you're going to have to cath him, right?"

"I was hoping he'd wake up and tell me to leave him the hell alone," Wilson replied, sadly. Cuddy gave him a sympathetic look.

"I've order some A neg for him," she said.

"Thanks."

"You get the line in?" she asked. He nodded. "You wanna do the ultrasound first or the lavage?"

"Lavage." Cuddy nodded again and pulled out the lavage kit. "Turn him on his side."

Wilson gently turned House so that he was lying on his left side, Cuddy ripped open the sterile tube that would be threaded down into House's stomach. "This is gonna be uncomfortable, Greg, but you've left us no choice," Wilson told him.

"He probably can't hear you, James," Cuddy said, softly.

"I know, but if he can, I want him to know what's going on." He held House's shoulder and kept his knee in his back to stop him from rolling back over. He watched silently as Cuddy pumped Greg's stomach and he was slightly disappointed to see that it was mostly blood that came up. Where were the surgeons? They'd better hurry before he bled out.

Cuddy pulled the tube out and looked at James. "That was a waste of time, I'll chase up the bloods and let you do the ultrasound and cath him, do you want a nurse to help undress him?"

"I can manage." She left and Wilson set about removing Greg's pants, Cuddy have left him a gown which he placed over him, he'd ask a nurse to dress him when he was finished with the tests. He prepared the ultrasound machine and run it gently over Greg's stomach. The monitor confirmed what he had suspected, he had a bleed – not too large, but enough for the surgery to be urgent. He'd page the surgeons again if they hadn't appeared by the time he was done.

"You're not going to like this Greg, but you leave me no choice," he told his unconscious friend as he lifted the sheet and prepared to catheterise House. He swabbed the tip of his penis, took a deep breath and pushed the tube in. Even though he felt more for his friend than a platonic love, he'd never thought he would be doing this. There was no way he'd tell Greg that he'd been the one to place it – it was either him or Cuddy so he was sure he'd appreciate that it was him, but still.

As he hung the bag, the surgeon arrived. One look at the ultrasound and he was rushing House off for emergency surgery. Now all Wilson could do was chase up the labs and check to see if House ihad/i OD'ed. 


	5. Chapter 5

The blood results showed that Greg had taken too many Vicodin, but nothing to constitute a proper overdose, though Wilson was concerned that had he not been around then there was no telling what how many House would have taken. He made a note for someone from psychiatry to come and talk to him when he was slightly more recovered.

It took them four hours to repair the damage to House's spleen, most of which Wilson spent pacing up and down outside surgery. He thought about House's team and whether or not they should be told, but as he thought about it he realised that there was no way that Greg would want them knowing and Cameron possibly dropping in to visit him and make sure he was okay.

House was brought back to his room, semiconscious, he kept batting away hands that were attaching monitors for him, which lightened Wilson's heart because it was an improvement to how he had been before. They had started him on a second transfusion and more fluids.

Once the transfer was complete, Wilson dismissed the nurses and did his own set of obs on House. He leaned down so that he was close to Greg's ear and whispered, "Greg, it's me, I'm just gonna do some obs okay?"

House grunted his approval. Wilson checked his blood pressure, checked his pupils and his oxygen saturations.

"Greg, can you open your eyes for me?" he asked, shaking House's shoulder gently.

House grunted again and slowly opened his eyes; he looked blearily at his friend, unable to focus for a moment. Wilson checked his pupils, much to House's discomfort, who tried to bat away the light.

"Can you squeeze my hands?" Wilson asked.

"G'way," House murmured.

"Come on, House, don't make me get Foreman in here to do the neuro checks."

"You wouldn't."

"I would, now squeeze." House complied but only because right then he believed that Wilson would follow through on his threat and the last thing he needed was the ducklings clucking around checking him out. He waited until Wilson was done with the checks before he spoke again.

"What happened?"

"You crashed your bike, did some damage to your spleen, scared the hell out of me. I know I promised you that I wouldn't make you go to the ER, but you puked blood, passed out and OD'd on your vicodin," Wilson explained.

"You over exaggerate," House said, "I'm sure I only took a few too many."

"Your blood disagrees with you."

"It hurt," House replied, pouting a little.

"Next time, tell me if there's something going on – it's not the worst thing in the world to ask for help y'know." House said nothing, but that was expected. It would be a cold day in hell before House willingly asked for help from anyone.

"How are you feeling?" Wilson asked, changing the subject.

"My head hurts, and my leg," House complained.

"I'll get something for that," Wilson said, heading out of the room and towards the drug lock up. He drew up 50mg of Demerol and headed back to House's room.

"I got you Demerol…" he started, stopping when he saw House thrashing about on the bed.

"He's having a seizure," he yelled to one of the nurses, "get me two of ativan." He headed over to House and rolled him onto his side, "Come on, Greg, you're gonna tear your stitches."

The nurse appeared and pushed the drug, taking over Wilson's position so that he could make sure House's airway was clear. The ativan hit and House's jerky movements slowed and finally came to an end.

"Get me an ultrasound and tell CT we're on our way," Wilson told the nurse, before gently rolling House back onto his back and checking his pupils. He could only hope that he hadn't torn his stitches, the last thing he needed was another load of major surgery.

The nurse re-appeared, dragging an ultrasound along behind her. "I paged Dr. Cuddy, she asked to be informed of any developments," she said, leaving Wilson alone with House.

The ultrasound revealed that the seizure hadn't done any damage to House's wound, which laid Wilson's mind at rest.

"Greg, can you hear me?" he asked, shaking his friend for what felt like the hundredth time.

"What's going on?" House asked, still post-ictal.

"You've had a seizure, Greg. Don't worry, we're gonna get a CT scan and get to the bottom of this," Wilson told him.

"Okay," House replied, scaring Wilson because he just agreed with him House bnever/b just agreed with someone, especially when it came to him needing help. Wilson put it down to House being disorientated after the seizure and waited for the transport to arrive to take him down to CT.

It didn't take them long, and before long Wilson was looking at House's CT scan…what he saw broke his heart. 


	6. Chapter 6

The tumour was about 4cm wide and buried deep in House's cerebellum, near enough to the brain stem to worry Wilson severely. He'd seen this type of cancer before and the story never ended well. It would explain the change in Greg's moods though and possibly even explain Iwhy/I he crashed in the first place. There would need to be an MRI and a biopsy before they could confirm whether or not it was treatable or operable. Wilson would call the neurosurgeons once he'd spoken to Cuddy and gotten House settled back in his room. There was no doubt that he would need radiotherapy and chemotherapy, months of painful treatments to battle a cancer that may already have won.

Except he couldn't think like that, he couldn't think like House's life was already lost, he had to be strong and he had to make sure that his friend got the best treatment there was. There was the ethical debate as to whether or not he should be the one to treat House but he decided to let his friend make that decision.

He left the nurses to make House comfortable as he approached Cuddy with Greg's CT scan results. "Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like what I see?" she asked, looking at the befallen look on Wilson's face.

He put the scan up on the glass box and switched it on. Cuddy saw it straight away. "Christ, how long has he been walking around with that in his head?" she asked.

"Who knows? The amount of Vicodin he takes would have masked any pain he would have felt and we both know that seizures aren't always the first symptom of a brain tumour."

"What are his chances?"

"From the position and the size, I'm guessing it's Astrocytoma, which can be operable depending on what grade it is. He'll need an MRI and possibly a biopsy to confirm it though. No matter what the outcome he'll need chemo and radiotherapy."

"Operable?"

"I can't tell you that without speaking to a neurosurgeon. I'd say it's a toss up as to who you ask because it's close to the brain stem, but not close enough to appear inoperable."

"I want the best on his case. You'll take care of the cancer, I'll get on to the neurosurgeon," Cuddy told him, answering his own question as to whether or not he should treat his friend.

"I'll go and make him comfortable. He was complaining of pain before the seizure, I'll give him some Demerol." Wilson gave Cuddy a nod and headed to the drug lock up. The previous syringe had been cleared away in the excitement after Greg's seizure.

He drew up 75mg of Demerol with an anti-emetic, pocketing the two syringes, he headed to Greg's room.

House was still semi-unconscious when he entered the room, but he moved his head when he heard Wilson slid the door open and then closed.

"How you feeling?" Wilson asked, seeing his friend pry his eyes open slowly.

"Foggy, head hurts, what happened?" House asked, sounding nothing like himself. He sounded hurt, scared and worried and those were attributes that Wilson had never thought he would apply to his friend.

"I got your some Demerol for that," Wilson told him, producing the syringes from his pocket

"See, I knew you'd score for me," House said, a wry grin appearing on his face. That was more like his old friend. Wilson swabbed the end of the injection port and pushed the Demerol slowly. He saw House visibly relax as it hit his blood stream.

"I got you some companzine too," Wilson told him, swapping syringes and pushing the anti-emetic.

"That's just gonna knock me out," House said, already slurring his speech.

"Yeah, well you've been through a lot in the past 24 hours and your body could do with a rest."

"What's going on, Jimmy?" House asked, his eyes half closed as the effects of the drugs hit him.

"Get some rest first," Wilson said, wanting to prolong telling his friend the horrible news.

"Don't treat me like one of your patients, tell me," House demanded, forcing his eyes open and looking at his friend through bleary eyes.

Wilson sighed deeply before he began. "We found a tumour, Greg. It's in your cerebellum, borderline to your brain stem. It's probably what caused you to crash your bike."

"Is it operable?"

"We don't know yet, but you'll get the best care, Cuddy's calling a neurosurgeon and I'll take care of the cancer side for you. We'll beat this, Greg."

"Don't call me, Greg. It makes me feel like I'm dying or something."

IYou might be/I Wilson thought.

"I want Foreman."

"What for?"

"I want him to be my neurosurgeon. I know he's the best, I hired him."

Wilson had not been expecting that, "I'll call him. Do you want me to talk to the others?"

House thought for a moment. "You might as well, it's not like Foremen will keep it a secret. Just tell them I'm too sick for visitors and if Cameron cries, send her home so she can't come tell me how sorry she is that I'm sick, 'kay?"

Wilson smiled. "Sure."

"Go do it now, I need to sleep."

"I'll have a nurse come sit with you," Wilson said, aware that they had yet to start Greg on something that would stop the seizures. He was reluctant to do anything until House had seen the neurologist.

"Fine, whatever," House said, dismissing Wilson with a wave of his hand.

Before he headed off to House's office where he would probably find all three ducklings, he got a nurse to sit with House. "Page me if anything happens and I mean Ianything/I."

"Yes, doctor," the nurse said before she opened the sliding door to House's room.

Now all Wilson had to do was tell House's staff what was going on and somehow he didn't think that was going to be too easy. 


	7. Chapter 7

"I'm not a neurosurgeon," Foreman said for the fifth time since the conversation had started.

"I know," Wilson told him. "You've said that before. But he requested you so will you at least check him over."

"House requested Ime/I? God, he must be sick," Foreman replied, before studying the CT. "Well, it's operable or at least I'd operate if I was a neurosurgeon…"

"Which you're not, yeah, we've covered this," Wilson interrupted.

"As I was saying, he'll need chemo first to shrink it because right now it's too close to the brain steam. You said he's having seizures?"

"Just the one so far."

"Well, I'd put him on neurotin for that, monitor him closely following the surgery he's already had, get an MRI and start chemo."

"Okay, I'll do that, but first I need to talk to Chase and Cameron."

"Why?"

"Because House wants them informed."

"I've read about these kinds of tumours changing personalities but this has got to be the first time I've seen it."

Wilson's pager went off before he could say anything. It was House's room so he made his excuses and left, telling Foreman to let Chase and Cameron know what had happened, but that so far he wasn't up to visitors and the last thing he needed was a crying Cameron turning up.

He ran to the room, something he hadn't done in a while. He could hear the monitors going haywire and guessed before he even reached the door that House was in the middle of another seizure.

A nurse had him rolled onto his side, another was keeping his airway clear and another was waiting for Wilson to arrive so that they could push the drugs.

"Two of ativan," Wilson said, barely stopping to take a breath as he took over keeping Greg's airway clear. The jerky movements slowed as the drug hit and they were able to gently roll House onto his back. Wilson checked his obs to make sure there were no signs of him having torn his stitches or caused another bleed.

"I want him started on neurotin," Wilson told the one of the nurses as she left him alone with his friend. He checked Greg's pupils whilst waiting for him to recover consciousness following the seizure "You don't deserve to be going through this, Greg. Not after Stacy and your leg and everything, you don't deserve to be fighting cancer as well," he whispered, softly. He wasn't sure how much House would be able to hear after a seizure but he wanted him to know that he wasn't alone.

"I never get what I deserve," House replied, quietly, his voice slurring slightly, as result of the drugs in his system. "Where'd you go?"

"I went to talk to Foreman, like you asked."

"I did?" Greg asked, sounding very confused.

"Yeah, you did."

"I had another one didn't I?" he asked, looking Wilson dead in the eyes.

"It wasn't as bad as the last one and we're going to start you on neurotin which should hopefully stop them completely."

"What did Foreman say?"

"It's operable, but you have to have a round of chemo first."

"Chemo, you're going to make all my hair fall out and poison my system and THEN take out the tumour that's making me sick?"

"I know it's backwards, but that's how it works in Oncology."

"Right," House said, shifting slightly and wincing.

"Pain?" Wilson asked, concerned that the Demerol he'd given his friend earlier wasn't enough to combat the massive amount of pain he must have been in.

"I'm fine," House lied, though he if he'd told the truth there wasn't much Wilson could do seeing as it hadn't been that long since his last shot of Demerol…maybe it was time to up the painkillers to morphine. Wilson made a note to talk to Cuddy about it later.

"Okay."

"When will the chemo start?" House asked, changing the subject.

"I was hoping to start the first treatment in the morning."

"Strike while the iron's hot and all that crap."

"Yeah."

"Which neurosurgeon did Foreman recommend?"

"I didn't get a chance to talk to him about that before they paged me. I can get him to come and talk to you about it if you'd like," Wilson offered.

"Yeah, that's be good, but not right now, sleepy," House said, closing his eyes as he spoke.

Wilson glanced at the monitor and checked that nothing was amiss. "Just gonna check your blood pressure," he said, tightening the cuff around his friend's arm.

"It's fine," Greg said, sounding slightly annoyed.

"I know, but humour me." He watched the monitor as the cuff tightened to get a reading.

"Did you mean it, Jimmy?" House asked, sleepily.

"Mean what?"

"When you said you loved me, back at my house while you waited for the paramedics."

Wilson swallowed several times, trying to concentrate on the numbers on the monitor and not on his friend's words.

"Did you?" House pressed.

"Your blood pressure's a little low, I'll just get an ultrasound ordered so we can check there's no bleeding," Wilson replied, heading to the door. He was not ready to have this conversation now, especially when his friend was doped up to the eyeballs.

"I hope you meant it, coz I mean it," was House's distant reply as he headed out of the room 


	8. Chapter 8

A/N:I made a mistake with the job of neurologists/neurosurgeons…I've tried to be as authentic as possible but I am no doctor…just a poor, lowly student with a knowledge of hospitals from my own personal experience…so please try and enjoy despite my stupid mistake…

"I'm going to be sick," House said, trying to sit up, but failing to get the energy. Wilson acted quickly, placing the basin below his chin and catching the first heave.

The chemo had started four hours ago and since then House had been throwing up and sweating. He had a headache, his stomach hurt and his leg was really acting up. Wilson had given him some Demerol but it didn't seem to have any effect.

"I'll get you some more companzine," Wilson said, once House had finished throwing up.

"Doesn't work, just kill me now," House moaned.

"You still in pain?"

"My head is killing me and my leg feels like it's on fire," House complained.

"We can try some morphine, Greg, if you think it'll help," Wilson told him, quietly.

"Only real cancer patients get the morphine," House said, but he wasn't saying no, right then he would have gladly taken a gun and shot himself if he thought it would end the pain.

"I'll draw you some up with some cyclizine, it should help with the nausea."

House nodded as another wave of sickness came over him. He opened his mouth to say something, but it was too late and he threw up down himself. The shivers started shortly afterwards and he was shaking as Wilson tried to make him more comfortable.

"It's fine, Greg, I'll get a nurse to come and clean you up while I draw up the drugs," Wilson said, sympathetically.

"Don't leave me," House half-whispered as he shook.

"I'm just going to get you something to make you feel better," Wilson told him, though his heart pulled, he hadn't said anything more to Greg about the conversation they'd had last night. The ultrasound had shown nothing of concern, and the chemo had started as normal, though it hurt him to see the man he loved in this condition he knew it was the only way to make Greg better.

"I can't do this, Jimmy, I can't survive this poison, just cut it out and be done with it," House moaned, trying to roll onto his side to get more comfortable.

The neurotin had worked so far and there had been no more seizures but Greg's behaviour was worrying him, he was sure there wasn't a bleed but his BP was low and the way he kept moving around worried him that he'd tear the stitches or something.

"It's the only way, Greg. I know it's hard."

"You don't have a Ifucking/I clue," Greg snapped as he grabbed his abdomen and groaned.

"Let me get a nurse, she'll make you more comfortable and I'll get some meds that will help with the nausea and pain. House didn't say anything, just continued to shake and groan as the chemo did it's job.

Wilson left once the nurse had arrived and went to the drug lock up to draw up some morphine. He hoped it would make House more comfortable, even if it was only a tiny amount – anything had to be better than watching him battle through the way he was now.

They had cleaned House up by the time he appeared with the morphine, but his friend was still turned onto one side, shaking slightly and clutching his stomach.

"Hey," he said, holding up the two syringes. "I got you morphine, it should take the edge off a little."

"Did you mean it?" House asked, looking Wilson dead in the eyes.

"Mean what?"

"When you said you left Julie for me, did you mean it?" Wilson tried to break eye contact and go about with administering the drugs, but House pulled away before he could even think about injecting.

"The morphine will help."

"I want to know the answer first."

"What if I'm not ready to tell you?"

"Then I'll suffer in pain."

"Greg, I…"

"Don't. Just, leave," House said, clutching his stomach tightly. "I don't need this crap on top of everything else. You'd think you'd be honest with me now that you know I have a fucking tumour but if you can only be honest when you think I'm unconscious then I don't want to talk to you."

Wilson sighed and looked at House. He was pale, sweating slightly and still shaky and Wilson didn't like the way he was holding his stomach, but he knew that unless he wanted his hands bitten off there was no way that Greg would let him near him until he gave him an answer.

"I meant it," he half-whispered. "I was going to tell you, I just…"

"Thought it was better to tell me when I couldn't answer back?" House interrupted.

"No, I planned to tell you again, just everything kept going wrong. First the bleed, then the tumour, there never seemed to be a right time."

"Promise me something," House asked.

"What?"

"Promise me you'll never lie to me again, just tell me okay?"

Wilson nodded. "You want this morphine?"

"I think I'm going to be sick again," House murmured, turning – if it was possible – paler. Wilson grabbed a bowl and managed to get it under House's chin before he started vomiting. There was little left to come up seeing as he'd not eaten all day and he'd been vomiting for most of it.

Wilson waiting until he'd finished heaving before starting to push the anti-emetic. "I'll push the morphine straight after, okay?" he told House, wishing he could do more to ease the discomfort his friend was in.

House nodded, but still clutched at his stomach, which raised red flags in Wilson's mind. He slowly pushed the morphine and watched as Greg visibly relaxed, his eyelids dropping slowly.

"That better?" Wilson asked. House just nodded. Wilson put his hand on Greg's shoulder. "I'm gonna do an ultrasound, check for a bleed." Greg nodded again, which worried Wilson more because he usually had to fight to get agreement on things like this.

Greg relaxed as the morphine hit his system, the dull ache in his head receded and for once the twinges in his leg had gone too…he lay back on his pillow and closed his eyes. Wilson could do what he liked to him because all he wanted was to sleep before the sickness monster re-appeared. 


	9. Chapter 9

House seemed to grow weaker by the day, as each dose of chemo was administered he struggled more and more to cope with the pain and sickness it brought. Wilson found it harder and harder to watch, but he knew that he would have found it even harder to step away.

On the fifth day, House spiked a fever and Wilson thought the worst. The body was at it's most vulnerable, the immune system was being eaten alive by the chemotherapy and even the smallest infection or virus could have massive effects on the patient.

"His fever's 103," the nurse told him. "He's pretty quiet, refusing to eat much and he's still needing six hourly anti-emetics. I asked him if he knew what could be causing it, but he refused to talk to me. I think he's slightly depressed."

"Wouldn't you be?" Wilson asked, picking up Greg's chart and flicking through it. His white cell count was up which indicated that it was some kind of infection that they were dealing with. House's moods had slowly been getting lower as the chemo went on. The pain was increasing and it was becoming too much for him to cope with. He saw no point in eating when he was throwing up so much and the only person that could get him to open up was Wilson and even that was getting harder.

"I'll go and check him over, can you page Cuddy and let her know that he's spiked a temperature and depending on the result we might need a clean room for him."

"Certainly, Dr. Wilson, let Dr. House know that we're all thinking of him, we've tried to get him to eat but, I guess he just doesn't see the point right now."

Wilson smiled at the sentiment and thought briefly about sharing it with Greg before deciding against it. Mean as it may sound, Greg was feeling too selfish to care what other people were thinking about him at the moment in time.

He slid open the door to House's room and stepped inside. House was lying on his back, one arm over his eyes and the other over his stomach. Wilson could tell just by looking at him that the fever was high and bothering him. The tips of his ears were red and his forehead was sweaty.

"Hey," he said, softly. "I hear you spiked a temperature."

Greg shrugged; he didn't even acknowledge that Wilson was in the room.

"You know I gotta find out why, don't you?"

That got a short nod.

"I'll be as quick as I can," Wilson promised, gathering supplies to draw some blood from Greg's central line so that they could test it for infection. House didn't even move as Wilson drew the blood, which concerned him. He'd seen it happening, seen House withdrawing over the past few days but he didn't think it had gotten Ithis/I bad.

"Tell you what, I'll go out and get you whatever you fancy for lunch, sneak something contraband in…would you like that?" he asked, labelling the tubes for the lab.

"Not hungry," House replied, his voice flat.

"You need to eat something, I don't want to have to start IV feeding."

"No point, I'll only throw it up."

"We can try something different for the sickness, see if that helps," Wilson offered. House just shrugged.

"You in any pain?"

"No more than normal."

"Is it any worse because I can top up your morphine dose with some fentanyl, my other patients say it works wonders."

"I don't care."

Wilson frowned. "Okay, you let me know though and I'll draw some up." He got his stethoscope and listened to House breathe. "Deep breath for me, buddy," he said. House obeyed and Wilson heard the beginnings of what sounded like pneumonia.

"I think I found the source of your temperature, you've got a crackly chest," he told House. House said nothing, just kept staring at the wall. "I'll get some anti-biotics started, should have you feeling better soon."

Wilson stared at what was very rapidly becoming a shell of his friend. He pulled over a stool and sat down next to him.

"Talk to me, Greg. You can't go on like this. Tell me how to help," he said, half-whispering.

House did something then that Wilson never thought he'd see Greg do. He started to sob, and not just a small sob either, a gut-wrenching one. He didn't know what else to do but stand up and pull his friend close and hug him.

"I know it sucks right now, but the chemo will help and you will feel better and this is the best way for you to beat the cancer."

"It hurts, Jimmy, I can't move without it hurting, I can't sleep, I can't eat without being sick, my stomach pulls when I throw up, and I'm scared, I'm so scared I'm not going to get through this without being scarred again."

"Like with your leg?"

"I don't want to end up with half my brain missing."

"You won't, I wouldn't let that happen to you," Wilson soothed.

"It hurts, Jimmy, make it stop, please," House sobbed. Wilson tried to pull away in order to get some more painkillers for Greg, but House clung onto him. "Don't leave me, Jimmy, I can't do it alone."

So, instead of doing it himself, he pressed the buzzer on the side of Greg's bed and waited for a nurse to appear.

"Can you get me 20mg of morphine, 50mg of fentanyl, and some Vistaril please?" he asked the nurse. If she thought anything of the fact that Wilson was pretty much cradling House she didn't say anything and to be honest, Wilson wouldn't have cared if she had. His main concern was that he dealt with House, made him comfortable.

"I'm gonna order you some IV feeding, just for a couple of day, as well as some Vancomycin for your chest, hopefully that'll have you feeling better soon, that okay?" Wilson asked, gently.

House just nodded, the sobs had eased, but he still wouldn't let Wilson go, for someone who was growing increasingly weak, he had a surprising amount of strength when he needed it.

"I know it's hard, but you've got to try eating as well, promise me, you'll try?" Wilson asked, gently pushing House, scared that too much would make him break. He felt House nod against his chest and the grip loosen.

The nurse cleared her throat as she re-entered the room with the drugs Wilson had ordered, Wilson nodded at her, "Can you draw up a loading dose of Vancomycin? Get me some IV calories and make sure those bloods get to the lab asap?" he asked. She nodded and left again.

"Greg, the drugs are here, you wanna lie back and see if we can get you more comfortable?" Wilson said.

"Okay," House replied. He sounded nothing like himself, more like a small child scared out of his mind.

Wilson waited until he was settled back again his pillow before stepping away and picking up the two syringes and the IV bag. "The Vistaril should kick in pretty quick and might help you get some sleep," Wilson said as he hooked it up to House's central line.

He uncapped the morphine and slowly pushed it, watching Greg's face for any change, it didn't seem to have much of an effect though some of the lines visibly relaxed. "The fentanyl will make the dose stronger, okay?"

House nodded, waiting as Wilson uncapped the second syringe and started to push the drug. It could feel it wash over him and slowly the pain in his head ebbed away and tiredness overcame him. The last thing he saw before he closed his eyes was Wilson watching him closely. He relaxed into the sleep the drugs were pushing him into, knowing that whatever happened, Wilson would keep him safe. 


	10. Chapter 10

Wilson watched as House slowly slipped into a deep, drug-induced sleep. The nurse re-appeared with the other drugs he'd ordered and he carefully hung them before leaving House to sleep. He had no intention of going far but he needed to update Cuddy about his condition. As it turned out, she was waiting for him when he got to the nurses station.

"How's he doing?" she asked, her hand held out for House's chart.

"He's got pneumonia, or at least the beginnings of it. He's in a lot of pain. I've just given him some more morphine, fentanyl and Vistrail. He's sleeping."

"You started him on Vancomycin?" Cuddy asked, reading Wilson's scrawl on the chart.

"Yep, and IV calories for the malnutrition. The nurses said he hasn't been eating since he started the chemo and he has lost weight. I didn't want it to start threatening his muscles, the last thing he needs is muscle atrophy and PT on top of brain surgery and chemo."

"Walker said he'll need at least one round of chemo before they can even think about operating," Cuddy told him. Walker was House's neurosurgeon.

"He's not going to like staying in the hospital until then, but I guess we don't really have a choice, he's certainly too sick right now to be at home," Wilson replied. He'd hoped that he'd be able to discharge House between chemo sessions to give him a chance to recover some at home but the pneumonia and House's condition had changed that. There was no way he could send House home without IV drugs, at least not alone.

"He's going to have to suck it up and get used to it, he's gonna be in for a long while. I just hope his team can cope with any cases that come in," Cuddy replied.

"I could take him home in a couple of days – just for the night," Wilson said, mostly to himself.

"He's on several IV drugs and pain medication, James. He's also got pneumonia, it'd be too much of a risk and you know he wouldn't let you help him," Cuddy told him.

"He might, he's pretty down right now, Lisa. The chemo has robbed him of an appetite and he's in a fair amount of pain. It might give him something to aim towards. I know it couldn't be until he's fully recovered from the surgery and his temperature is stable, but I do it with my other patients, why not House?"

"Because your other patients aren't likely to go and drink themselves into a coma?"

"I'd be with him the whole time, he'd be confined to either his bed or the couch and it would give him a break."

"Who are you trying to convince here, James? He's your patient, if you think it would help then clear it with Walker and go for it, but let him know that at the first sign of trouble he's coming back in," Cuddy said, resigning herself to the fact that it was more than an idea.

"I'll see how he is after the sleep," Wilson said, heading back to House's room to make sure that he was comfortable.

House was still sleeping and his face had relaxed sufficiently to tell him that the painkillers had worked. He planned to change House's regular medication round so that he would never be in as much pain as he had been that afternoon.

Wilson left briefly to collect some charts from his office and then set himself up in House's room, ready with some more fentanyl and morphine for when House woke.

* * *

"Hey, how you feeling?" Wilson asked, when he noticed that House's eyes were open and looking at him.

"Pretty embarrassed."

"Why?"

"Because I ended up a sobbing heap in your arms."

"You're allowed to do that, you were hurting pretty bad."

"But still, something like that's gonna kill my street cred dead."

"I won't tell if you don't," Wilson said, smiling. House nodded and winced. "Pain?"

"Only when I breathe."

"Give me a number," Wilson asked.

House thought for a moment. "Five," he admitted. "I can hold out."

"Okay, but I have some more drawn when you need it."

"You're so good to me, Jimmy."

"Only the best for department heads."

House shifted uncomfortably in bed. "Can this catheter come out anytime soon?" he asked.

"Not really, you had major surgery."

"Yeah, a week ago."

"You feel up to moving around?"

"I feel like I could give it a go."

"Okay, I'll take it out, but first sign of problems and it's going back in."

"YOU'LL take it out? You just want to molest me."

"Who'd you think put it in? Cuddy?"

"What, you? I just assumed it was one of the ER docs."

"You didn't make it to the ER, Greg, Cuddy had a room lined up for you already."

"That's just…it's…"

"Considering your earlier confession to me, it's kinda kinky," Wilson said, raising his eyebrows.

"No, it's just icky."

"You want it out or not?"

"Go for it." Wilson stood up, grabbed some gloves and placed himself at the end of Greg's bed. He lifted the blanket, but only slightly so that he didn't rob House of all of his dignity. He deflated the balloon that was keeping the tube in place and pulled gently until the tube was clear of House's penis.

"God, that feels so much better," House said, re-arranging himself under the covers.

"I meant what I said, any problems and it'll go back in."

"Yes sir! Besides, I'll have one once Walker slices my brain open."

"Yeah, but you'll also be unconscious for a while so it won't bother you."

"True."

"How would you feel about spending one night at home, before the surgery I mean. You'd have to put up with me for company and we'd leave the central line in and you'd have to rest, but I thought it would be a nice break for you."

"That would be good," House admitted. "What about the pneumonia?"

"It wouldn't be until your temperature's down and you've had a good few days of anti-biotics, but nothing's stopping me doing a dose at home for you."

"You'd do that for me, Jimmy?"

"I do it for my other patients."

"Yeah, but it must be true then."

"What must be true?"

"That you love me," House said, giving Wilson a grin


	11. Chapter 11

The days that followed were good to House. The drug regime worked and he stayed as pain-free as was possible. The neurotin had stopped the seizures and the anti-biotic was doing its job and working hard on the pneumonia. The chemo still had a rough effect on him, but overall Wilson was pleased with the progress he was making and arranged for House to be allowed one night at home. They would keep his room free for him to return to and he understood that he was being discharged into Wilson's care and that should anything, I_anything_/I at all cause Wilson concern he would be brought straight back – by ambulance if necessary.

"Come on, Jimmy, I wanna get out of here," House said, unable to sit still. He'd agreed to being pushed out in a wheelchair because he knew it was the only way he was going to get out of the hospital and he knew he was coming back the following day but he didn't care. One night at home was better than anything the hospital had to offer him.

"I'm just making sure I have enough of everything, I don't want to have to bring you back early because I've forgotten something," Wilson said, double checking all the medications and syringes in his bag. Once he was sure he had enough of everything – including drugs to stop a seizure should Greg have one whilst out of the hospital – he grabbed hold of the handles and pushed House out of the hospital and towards his car.

There hadn't been much discussion about what would happen once they got back to House's apartment, they both figured that it wasn't what they said, but what they didn't say that would answer any questions the other may have.

House slept on and off for the whole drive home. The Vistrail had been stopped for the journey and already he could feel the all too familiar feeling of nausea creeping up on him.

"Greg, you okay?" Wilson asked as he parked outside House's apartment.

"Feel pretty sick," House admitted.

"That's coz we stopped the Vistrail and also coz you've done more moving around in the past thirty minutes than you have for the past ten days. Let me know if it gets any worse. Can you make it inside?" Wilson asked, slightly concerned and mentally berating himself for not thinking to give House an injection of something to cover him for the journey.

"I'll be…" he started, but stopped, turning out of the car and vomiting on the pavement. Wilson was by his side in an instant, rubbing his back. "Sorry about that."

"Don't apologise. It's fine. You think you can stand or do you want to sit for a while longer."

"I want to get in before my neighbours see me and the last of my street cred is blown away," House muttered.

They took the stairs slowly, Wilson making sure that House was safely on the couch before heading back to unload the car of the medical supplies he'd need to keep Greg comfortable for the next 24 hours. He'd arranged for him to have a day off chemo so he was home for a whole day and night. Wilson had cleared all his other patients and made sure that unless there was some kind of emergency (and by that he meant life and death) he was not to be disturbed.

Once everything was inside, Wilson helped make House comfortable on the couch. "You sure you wouldn't feel better in bed?" he asked.

"I've spent the past ten days in bed, let me enjoy this for a little while before you ship me off there again."

Wilson watched as House fidgeted and winced.

"Give me a number."

"It was just a twinge," House moaned.

"You're refusing drugs?" Wilson asked, incredulous.

"They'll knock me out."

"If you need them, you need them. I can lower the dosage, or just give you morphine to take the edge off it."

"I'll tell you if I need it," House promised as Wilson set about making a coat stand into a make-shift IV pole and restarting the IV calories, the anti-biotic, the Vistrail and some normal saline. "I feel like a bag lady," House complained.

"No one has to know," Wilson told him. "You want me to switch General Hospital on?"

House nodded and they settled down to watch the soap.

* * *

Wilson had closed his eyes for a second when the second commercial came on and had drifted off. House lay on the couch watching his friend sleep. He needed something for the pain and his head felt foggy, but he didn't want to wake Wilson, he knew that he needed the sleep. 

He tried to think back and pin point the moment he'd realised that what he felt for his friend had been something more than a platonic friendship, but he couldn't think properly. It hadn't always been that way, it was as if one day he'd just woken up and it was there – a love for James Wilson, something that he had to keep secret because he had no idea how the other man felt and he thought that he was happily married – well, married, if nothing else.

A sharp pain in his head made his gasp loudly and he knew that he had no choice but to wake the sleeping beauty.

"Wilson? Wilson, wake up!" he said, loudly. He could just about reach out to poke him if he leaned off the couch and balanced in a certain way. The stitches from his previous surgery had been removed, but it still hurt if he tugged the wound in a certain way.

"Wilson, please wake up," he cried, leaning over slightly too far and landing loudly on the floor on his right side. He swore and grabbed his leg. Tears of pain appeared in his eyes and he cursed out loud.

"House, what's wrong? What happened?" Wilson asked, waking and appearing at his side in seconds.

"I fell."

"Where does it hurt?"

"My leg, I think I twisted it underneath me," House moaned, tears streaming down his cheek.

"Stay there, don't move."

"Jimmy, it hurts," House complained.

"I know, I'm just getting you some morphine."

"I don't feel too good," House said, his speech slurring. He fell back on the floor and his head hit the hardwood flooring.

"House, stay with me. Greg, stay with me," Wilson said, pulling the medical bag along with him as he tried to get to House before the seizure could take hold.

He ended up with his knees around House's head to keep his airway clear while he drew up some ativan with his teeth and one hand. He managed somehow to push the drug and House's movements slowed. Part of him knew that he should take House back to the hospital now, should get another MRI and check that the tumour hadn't grown or spread, but he always knew how much his friend needed this time at home so instead he took House in his arms and lifted him, carrying him into the bedroom and lying him down. He moved the IV's slowly, checking Greg's eyes each time to see if he was coming round from the relatively short seizure.

"I have to go back, don't I?" House asked, his speech still slightly slurred after twenty minutes had passed.

"That would be the best idea, yes."

"Why aren't you packing everything up?"

"I wanted to give you the choice. It was short seizure, probably caused by the shock of falling on your leg, you've come round and are pretty much competent. I only had to push one mg of ativan to stop it. I'm leaving this one up to you, Greg," Wilson explained.

"If I stay here will you do something for me?"

"Anything."

"Will you sleep with me tonight?"

Wilson thought about what he was being asked and slowly nodded. "I will, but only if you get some rest first."

"Hurts."

"Give me a number."

"Nine."

"Okay, I'm gonna give you both the morphine and the fentanyl then."

"Sounds good."

Wilson pushed the drugs and waited for House to fall into a drug-induced sleep before he kicked off his shoes, and lay next to him, gently stroking his cheek as House's muscles relaxed. He could feel himself drifting too, but made no effort to move, he just lay curled up with House, glad that whilst in this condition, House was as pain free as possible.


	12. Chapter 12

House needed medicating twice in the night; both times he woke up Wilson by whimpering in his sleep. It was unusual for House to express his pain that way which is why Wilson ended up slipping him some extra pain meds when he drew them up at 4am.

"What time do we have to be back?" House asked, enjoying just lying in bed with Wilson curled up next to him.

"I told Cuddy I'd have you back by mid-afternoon. You'll need a new MRI at some point just to check the tumour hasn't spread."

"Right, coz of the seizure?" House asked.

"Yeah."

"Okay."

"How you feeling?" Wilson asked, propping himself up on his elbows.

"Pretty shitty. I vaguely remember you shooting me up at about 4am this morning," House told him.

"You were in a lot of pain," Wilson reasoned.

"You just wanted me to shut up so you could sleep," House told him, a smirk appearing on his face.

"Well, there was that," Wilson replied. If House could joke about things then maybe he was feeling better emotionally than he had done in a long while. It made him feel better to know that he was right – the trip home had helped House.

House punched Wilson lightly in the shoulder. "Ow, that hurt you know," Wilson protested.

"You deserved it," House said, rubbing his temple. "My head hurts," he pouted.

"Give me a number," Wilson said, slipping back into doctor mode.

"I'm fine, just feel sick with it, is all."

"I'll put up a new bag of Vistrial." Wilson got up from the bed and headed into the living room where he'd left all of the medical supplies. The empty ampoules of morphine and fentanyl were lying on the side where he'd left them. He picked them up and put them in the disposable sharps bin he'd brought with him as he dug around for a new bag.

"You sure you don't want anything?" he called out as he open a new bag of saline and added the Vistrial to it. There was no reply, which worried him slightly, so carrying the bag with one hand and the syringe with the other he headed back to the bedroom.

House was lying down, rolled up in the fetal position and hugging his stomach. "House! What's wrong?"

"Feel icky," House replied, pouting some more.

"I'll draw you up some morphine," Wilson replied, turning to head back to the living room.

"I don't want to go back to sleep," House complained.

"I won't give you too much, and I won't give you any fentanyl, that should just ease off the pain." He hung the new bag of Vistrail, hoping that it would work fast and stop Greg from throwing up. He drew up the morphine, giving House a small enough dose that it shouldn't interfere with his level of consciousness, but large enough that it would ease any discomfort that he felt.

He swabbed the injection port of the central line and House pulled away. "No, don't want to sleep," he said, wincing as he moved.

"You're in pain. You need this."

"I don't want it."

"You're refusing drugs?"

"I don't want to sleep away my time at home, please Jimmy, just let me suffer in silence."

Wilson sighed. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I can't watch you suffer. I can't see you in pain without it hurting me too."

"So give yourself the shot of morphine instead then," Greg quipped.

"Greg, it's not the same and you know it. I promise you it won't send you back to sleep."

"You swear?"

"I swear, and I'll keep you awake even if it does."

"How do you intend to do that?" House asked, raising his eyebrows at Wilson.

"I'm sure I can think of something," Wilson replied, pushing the morphine and watching House visibly relax. "See, that wasn't so bad was it?"

House thought for a moment. "I feel sleepy. Wake me up."

Wilson dumped the two syringes in the sharps bin and lay next to House. He leaned over and kissed him gently.

"You have no idea how long I've been wanting to do that," he half-whispered.

"bYou/b have no idea how long I've wanted you to do that," House replied, laying back and relaxing in Wilson's embrace.

"If that's the case then I better do it again before you get withdrawal," Wilson said, leaning over and kissing House again. That would certainly keep him awake. 


	13. Chapter 13

"So, he's eating and I think he was even nice to one of the nurses, what gives?" Cuddy asked as she looked over House's latest MRI.

"I told you, time at home was all he needed," Wilson told her.

"Walker's happy with this MRI. He was muttering something about operating next Tuesday, after another few doses of chemo," Cuddy said, ignoring Wilson's answer.

Wilson grabbed the MRI off the light box and slipped it back into the cardboard folder. "I'll start today's dose once he's more settled."

"Whatever you did, he's better for it," Cuddy told him, as Wilson headed back to House's room. He stopped by the nurses' station and ordered that day's dose of chemo, drawing up the next dose of pain killers for House.

"MRI's clear. Walker wants to operate next week," he said as he entered House's room.

"I've been thinking," House started as Wilson started to inject the drugs.

"Bet that was painful. There you go, chemo should be here soon," Wilson replied, injecting the drugs and dumping the empty syringes in the sharps box.

"Are you listening to me?" House asked as Wilson made himself comfortable on the chair while he waited for the chemo to arrive.

"Of course. You were thinking, it was painful."

"Shut up, I'm serious," House snapped. He'd be pissed off but he was in a place where it didn't hurt and he couldn't manage to be totally pissed off.

"Sorry, you were saying?"

"I've been thinking, what if I didn't have the surgery?" House asked, looking at his hands.

"You'd die, Greg," Wilson said, his face serious.

"I just...last time I had surgery I came out with half a leg, I don't want to go in and come out with half a brain or something worse happen," House started.

"No, don't be so stupid, you have to have this surgery. The tumour isn't going to disappear on its own and there's no way that chemo would just kill it off, I'm not having this discussion with you," Wilson said, standing up and giving House a stern look. He couldn't be serious, he needed this surgery and there was no way that Wilson was going to let him piss around with his health.

"It was only a thought," House said, pouting slightly.

"Yeah and if you went through with it, I'd have you sectioned," Wilson told him, seriously. Before House could reply, a nurse appeared carrying his dose of chemo. He groaned inwardly. It wasn't that he wanted to die, he'd just prefer that he got to go home, get well and forget all about having his brain on the operating table.

"Come on, a few more doses of chemo, some surgery and then you can go home and be miserable for the rest of your life," Wilson told him as he connected the IV bag to House's central line.

House switched the TV on and started flipping through the channels as the chemo started to enter his veins. "You know what? I feel pretty sick, I think I'm just gonna sleep."

"Okay," Wilson said.

"You mind leaving me alone?" House asked, refusing to look at Wilson. He didn't want to see the look he knew he'd be wearing. It was similar to the one someone would wear if House had say, just kicked a puppy or something.

"Sure, get them to page me if you need anything," Wilson said, quietly, gathering his stuff and heading to the door.

"Sure thing," House said, laying back on his pillows and staring out the window. He had no intention of sleeping, he just couldn't cope with Wilson watching him throw up for the next few hours as the chemo posioned him. He had no intention of refusing the surgery, he just needed time to think. 


	14. Chapter 14

The next few days were hard on House for many different reasons. He seemed to slip back into the depression that had a hold of him before he'd returned home with Wilson. He withdrew from his friend and spoke less and less as the days grew closer to his surgery. Wilson had to up the IV calories because he stopped eating again and had had to review his pain medication because the headaches got worse. However many times he tried to reach House, he failed and he was growing increasingly worried that something more was going on inside House's head than he was letting on.

It didn't help that on the weekend before his surgery he had a visitor – someone he had been avoiding since he'd fallen sick. Wilson had successfully managed to convince her not to visit, that House was doing fine, but the nurses were talking about how down he was and she couldn't help but wonder if her turning up would help him pull himself out of the depression.

"Hello, Greg," she said, pulling the sliding door shut as she entered the room. She was shocked to see how sick House looked, he was having his daily dose of chemo and he looked pale, thin and pretty much like a cancer patient. She'd hoped that he wouldn't look that bad, then maybe she could have convinced herself that Wilson and all the other tests had been wrong. House couldn't have cancer, she couldn't bear it.

"Hello, Stacy," House murmured, wishing that he could close his eyes and she would just disappear. He felt pretty awful as it was without throwing her into the mix.

"How are you feeling?"

"Just peachy," House snapped. "I normally spend my days throwing up."

"I wanted to come before, but Wilson advised against it."

"Why did you come now?"

"I had to see you, I had to know that you were okay."

"Why?"

"Because no matter how angry you make me, I still love you," she half-whispered.

"Go away," House replied, shutting his eyes and praying that the dull aching of his head would disappear along with her. When he opened his eyes she was still there – as was his headache – and she'd moved closer to him, close enough to grasp his hand if she wanted. He didn't want that.

"Greg…"

"GO AWAY," House shouted, before cradling his head with his hands. Dammit, she was making the pain worse.

"You have to start eating, you have to pull yourself out of this depression and fight this. I couldn't bear to lose you," she told him, half-crying. House rolled onto his side, ignoring her and trying to will the pain away.

"Leave me alone," House told her, praying she'd leave. Where was Wilson? Why wasn't he here? Why wasn't he protecting him? When was his next dose of medication due? Could he last that long?

"Greg, listen to me. You have to fight this, you can't refuse surgery, I couldn't bear it, not to see you like that again."

"Only this time you couldn't go behind my back and let them cut half my leg off," House snapped, curling up tighter in a bid to ease the cramping in his stomach. He felt like shit, he was going to throw up – damn chemo.

He could feel her approaching him and she wanted to tell her to back off and leave him alone, but he couldn't find the words. He thought about pressing the buzzer and getting a nurse to tell her to leave but that would mean moving and he couldn't face that.

"Greg, are you in pain? Do you need me to get Wilson?" she asked, finally seeing that there was something wrong with him.

"Leave me alone," Greg snapped.

"I'm gonna get a doctor or something, they shouldn't let you be in this much pain," she said, rubbing his shoulder. He withdrew at the contact, Christ, even Ithat/I hurt. What the hell was going on?

He heard her leave and he couldn't tell how long she was gone before she returned with someone. It was Foreman.

"House? Give me a number," he said, approaching the bed cautiously.

"Go away," House replied. He didn't want Foreman, he wanted Wilson, he wanted him to be there, to comfort him, to push the drugs. Where the hell was he?

Foreman fished out his penlight and lifted House's eyelids to check his pupils. "Leave alone," House murmured, batting the bright light away. He should have known what was going to happen, should have sensed it, but he didn't, he didn't guess what was coming and even as it gripped him and carried him away he still didn't work it out.

All he heard was Foreman say, "get Wilson. Get him NOW." Then there was nothing, just a bright light and the pain was gone. 


	15. Chapter 15

Wilson was in a meeting when his pager went off. He excused himself when he saw that it was House's room number. The "911" attached to it worried him, so he walked a little faster to House's room, but nothing could have prepared him for what he saw when he got there.

Stacy was stood in the corner, her hands covering her mouth as she watched in horror. Foreman was directing nurses to push drugs as House fitted.

"What the hell happened?" Wilson asked, drawing up some more ativan to push as House continued to seize.

"He hit a ten on the pain scale according to her, I was just coming to see how he was, checked his pupils, left one was enlarged. The tumour must be pressing down on it."

"Fuck, why didn't we see this coming?" Wilson said, pushing the drugs and praying that House's movements would slow. They didn't. "How long has he been seizing?"

"Ten minutes max."

"He's gonna fry his brain," Wilson said, trying to weigh up the other options. They didn't have many, they could keep pushing the ativan and hope that it would eventually stop the seizure or they could paralyse House and intubate him and pray that there was no long-term damage.

House's body made the decision for them. His heart flat lined causing Wilson to swear loudly. Foreman started compressions while Wilson called the code blue.

"I'll intubate," he said, forcing himself to think clearly and not cry. He had to treat this like any other case, he couldn't let himself think about whose life it was he was battling to save. He passed the tube expertly into House's lungs and listen to check the placement as Foreman battled to get his heart started again.

They fought for five minutes, shocking House three times as Wilson mentally willed him to live. The faint beep on the heart monitor when House's body finally responded to the drugs brought a sigh of relief to Wilson and a cry from Stacy. He'd forgotten she was there.

"What the hell did you say to him?" he snapped, whirling round to face her.

"Nothing, I just told him he had to fight this," she stammered.

"I told you to leave him alone, he didn't need the stress," Wilson told her, turning to Foreman he said, "can you book the MRI? I'll page Walker." He knew deep down that Stacy hadn't caused House to have a seizure, she hadn't caused the arrest and the more he thought about it, the more he realised that the signs had been there. The increase in pain, the more withdrawn Greg had become, he was more angry at himself for not spotting it sooner and doing something to stop it turning into this.

As the porters led House away for an MRI, Wilson felt his resolve slip and tears start to form. He dismissed himself and headed for the bathrooms where he could cry for his lover in peace. 


	16. Chapter 16

House floated back to earth slowly, to begin with all he could feel was pain and he wanted to go back to the place where it hadn't hurt, but as time drew on the pain lessened and he realised that he wasn't alone. He couldn't open his eyes so he couldn't see who was there, but he knew that it wasn't Stacy, his mind told him it was Wilson whose head was laying on the bed next to him, whose hand he was holding. He kept trying to force his eyes open, but he couldn't manage it. His body needed time to regain the strength from its fight, but patience was never one of House's strong points.

As time passed he hear different people talking about him. He knew that Wilson was there now because it was always his voice telling people that there was no change. What was supposed to change? He wasn't sure. Oh yes, he was supposed to open his eyes. He tried to do so again, but failed, it made him drift further away and the grip on his hand tightened, as if trying to tether him to the ground.

Wilson never spoke to him, maybe if it had then House would have understood more about what was going on, but he didn't. Probably scared to say something in case he was talking to himself. House made a mental note to tell Wilson that people in comas could hear what was going on – or at least he assumed he was in a coma. Maybe he was just sleeping deeply.

He remembered the ducklings coming to see him, could still hear Foreman ask if there was any improvement and Wilson's sad, resigned voice saying there was none. Cameron was trying hard not to cry, he could tell just by the sound of her voice, the way she answered things in one word rather than prolonging the time she spoke. She was scared, they all were but House couldn't work out Iwhat/I they were scared of. He was still alive, wasn't he?

He tried to tether himself to the ground on the third day, was growing impatient with the darkness that surrounded him day after day and was determined to open his eyes and see what the hell was going on, see why so many people were tip toeing round him, desperate to see some kind of improvement. He actually missed the sympathetic look Wilson gave him that he'd grown to hate over the time since the infarction.

He didn't manage it, all he managed was to make his heart beat funny and have a lot of noise surrounding him as people pushed drugs to keep him "stable". He'd heard that word a lot recently, whenever Cuddy asked Wilson how Greg was doing, Wilson always used the word 'stable'.

In his own humble opinion, he was more than 'stable', he could tell you where he was and who was around him just by the sound of their voice, but he reasoned that as long as his eyes were closed they'd never know that he was awake, that whatever had happened I.hadn't/I killed him.

He knew he was going to succeed in waking up on the eighth day, the pain in his head was different and he just Iknew/I what it meant, though had you asked him to explain it, he wouldn't have been able to. It was if one minute something was stopping him from opening his eyes and the next, it was gone.

When he finally managed to focus, he thought the room was empty and that he had imagined the grip on his hand, but then he turned his head and saw a sleeping Wilson curled up in the chair, hand outstretched.. He could feel the tube down his throat and wondered why he had never noticed that a machine was breathing for him before.

He lifted his hand, the one that Wilson wasn't gripping onto and felt his head. There was a thick bandage wrapped round it and it hurt. He must be due some kind of painkiller about now. There were several drip stands and he recognised the Vistrail, the IV calories, but there were new ones and he wasn't sure what they were. He couldn't see the labels. He could feel the catheter in his bladder, along with the NG tube up his nose.

Surgery. He'd had surgery. That was the only thing that made sense, the only thing that could have kept him knocked out for so long. He couldn't remember having all those machines before the big sleep.

His head hurt, as did his leg and he guessed that they must have him on a morphine pump, but it wasn't enough, he needed more. He tried to shift in bed to see if he could reach the button that would boost his dose but it was just out of his reach. He had no choice, but to wake Wilson.

He thought about calling out to him, but then he realised that he couldn't because of the tube in his throat so instead he squeezed the hand Wilson had hold of. Wilson reacted straight away, as if he'd only been half asleep and Greg's movement had pulled him back into consciousness. It took him a while to realise that House was actually awake because to begin with he was just amazed that there had been some improvement, he'd felt the hand squeeze and that had to mean something.

It wasn't until he reached for his penlight to check House's pupils that he saw those baby blue eyes staring back at him. He smiled and fought a battle inside himself to not cry.

"You're finally back with us, then?" he half-whispered, shining the light in both of House's eyes to check the pupils.

House nodded and tried to bat away the light but it seemed that all his energy was focused on just staying awake. He'd been asleep for the best part of a week and he was still tired.

"How are you feeling?" Wilson asked, then mentally berated himself because there was no way that House could answer. "Stupid question, right?"

House nodded.

"I'll check your blood gases later and we'll see about removing that tube, okay?"

House nodded.

"I bet you want to know what happened, right?"

House nodded.

"The tumour spread, pressing on your left eye, caused you to have a seizure. You scared the living hell out of us because you went into full arrest before we could stop it. I thought we were going to lose you." Wilson choked saying the last part as House squeezed his hand.

"The MRI told us we had to operate if we wanted you to have any chance of full recovery, so Walker went in and removed most of the tumour, sedated you for a few days which you spent in the ICU, then we brought you back here once you were stable. We've been waiting for you to wake up since. Everyone's been into see you," Wilson explained and House nodded. He moved his spare hand and pointed to his head.

"What's wrong? You want the tube out?" House shook his head.

"Pain?" Wilson asked. House nodded. "Bad?" House nodded. "I'll get you a top-up," Wilson said, prying his hand out of House's grasp and heading out to the nurses' station to draw up some more drugs. While he was there he paged Cuddy to let her know that House was awake and hopefully out of any danger.

"I got you some fentanyl, that should help," Wilson told him, swabbing the injection port and pushing the drug as House watched. "If I'd known all it would take was a little extra pain to wake you up we would have stopped the morphine."

House tried to nod, but felt the drugs hit his system and his eyes close again. He didn't want to sleep again, but he had no choice and as they carried him back to the place of darkness he grabbed hold of Wilson's hand – the one thing that could tether him to the ground. 


	17. Chapter 17

"He's doing better," Wilson told Cuddy as he reviewed House's blood gas results. "We can probably extubate in the morning."

"You should get some sleep," Cuddy said, taking the file from Wilson. "You haven't slept properly in over a week. He's awake, he's getting better, it's safe for you to leave him for a few hours."

"Not while he's on the ventilator," Wilson told her.

"You just said you'll be able to extubate in the morning. You might as well get some sleep first."

"I'm not leaving him, okay? Not until he's awake and telling me to," Wilson said, signalling that the conversation was over. Cuddy sighed, she knew there was no point in arguing with him about it – she wasn't going to win.

Wilson left her alone at the nurses' station and headed back to House's room, he was still knocked out from the earlier pain medication, but he wanted to sit with him so that he wasn't alone when he woke up. He took his place in the chair by Greg's bed and took hold of his hand.

House opened his eyes blearily and look at Wilson. He looked tired and dishevelled, but then again he'd probably been with him since the operation so it wasn't entirely surprising. He wished that they'd take out the damn tube so that he could talk, he had so many things that he wanted to say – the first of which was to thank Wilson for not leaving him alone. He'd never admit it, but it would have scared him to wake up alone.

"Hey, you're awake," Wilson said, noticing the blue eyes staring at him. House nodded and pointed to the tube.

"Not till tomorrow, Greg. I know it's frustrating but I want to make sure that your lungs are fully recovered."

House shook his head and pointed to the chart at the end of his bed. It was getting frustrating to have to communicate through a series of pointing and shakes of the head.

"You wanna see? I'll show you your results but it's not going to change my mind. It says in until the morning," Wilson said ready to defend his actions. True, the results showed that he could take the tube out now and House would probably be okay – the key word there is probably – he didn't want to risk it, not after a week long coma and the scare that House had given them all beforehand.

Still, he handed over the file to House and let him read through the results. He was ready for the look House shot him when he saw the blood gas results.

"I'm not taking it out, Greg. You can look at me like that all you like and before you even think about it, Cuddy agrees with me so no one else will take it out either. You were pretty sick and yeah, you're recovering now but I don't want to have to put it back in at 4am because your lungs just weren't ready," Wilson said, rolling his eyes at House.

House just continued to look at him as if he could communicate his thoughts through telepathy. Wilson ignored him. "You wanna watch something?"

House shook his head and pulled on the ventilator tube. "Greg, you pull that out and I swear I will sedate you and stick on straight back in. You're just gonna have to be patient."

Only patience wasn't what House was known for. 


	18. Chapter 18

"Take a deep breath in," Wilson said, his hand over the ventilator tube. "Now, blow," he instructed House as he pulled the tube out. House blew and coughed as the tube was removed from his throat. As he fought to catch his breath, an oxygen mask was placed over his face.

"I don't need this," House said, moving to remove the mask.

"Greg, you'll wear it or I'll put the tube back in for a couple of days. I know your blood gases were good, but they weren't Ithat/I good," Wilson told him.

"Does it have to be a mask?" House asked, pouting slightly.

"While you've got the NG tube in, it has to be a mask." Wilson made himself busy drawing up the next load of painkillers for House. Since the removal of the tumour his friend had still been in a considerable amount of pain and they were still giving him regular injections of morphine. Thankfully, the amount of fentanyl being used had been reduced since the surgery – a sign that the pain was beginning to lessen.

"My throat hurts," Greg complained.

"You had the tube in for over a week, it's bound to be sore."

"It wouldn't be sore if you'd taken it out yesterday like I wanted," House argued.

"I'm not going to argue with you about that," Wilson replied, ignoring the look that House was giving him.

"Yeah, only coz you know I'd win."

Wilson said nothing, but gave his friend a look. House was probably right, there had been no need for him to stay on the ventilator that previous night -at least nothing had happened to justify it but Wilson hadn't been willing to risk his friend's life, not after the week of hell he'd been through when they hadn't been sure if Greg would wake up and even if he did they didn't know if he'd wake up and still be the same House he'd been before all of this. The fact that he'd only be able to speak for a few minutes and was already complaining told Wilson that him that Greg's brain was most likely acting as normal.

"Give me a number," Wilson said, changing the subject.

"Five," House replied without even thinking about it. "I don't need a top up."

"Okay, but let me know when you do." Wilson sighed and sat back down in the chair that had pretty much been his home since House had been admitted, he'd spent every night in it bar the night House was at home and the few days House had been on the intensive care unit.

"You need a shower, you're starting to ferment," House said, looking over at Wilson and wrinkling his nose.

"You sound like Cuddy," Wilson told him, giving him a look.

"I would never say this to her face, but she's right. Go home, get some sleep, have a shower before you start to grow something."

"I'd rather wait until you were slightly better," Wilson admitted.

"I don't need you to hold my hand, James. I can recover without you here and if anything goes wrong, they'll page you."

"I'd still rather be here."

"Is this the part where I get all weepy eyed and girly about the fact that my boyfriend doesn't want to leave my side?" House asked, sarcastically.

"I guess that proves that brain surgery hasn't changed you," Wilson replied, trying to hide the hurt from his voice.

"James, it's not that I don't like having you here, you're certainly nicer to look at than all the nurses and whatever crap happens to be on the TV, but I'd also prefer that you didn't smell like you were fermenting. If you won't go home, at least go and grab a shower or something," House told him, shifting on the bed to make himself more comfortable. Wilson mis-read the movement as pain.

"You need a top-up?" he asked, moving to grab the dose he'd already drawn up and swabbing House's injection port.

"I'm fine, stop fussing over me and please, get a shower or something," House said, pulling away and complaining.

"If I go and grab a shower will you let me top you up and stop being such a martyr?"

"I'm not being a martyr."

"I know you better than you think and I know that you're hurting."

"You just want to dose me up on painkillers so that I'll sleep and you can molest me."

"Last time I checked you didn't need to be unconscious for that to happen," Wilson told him, raising his eyebrow.

"Pervert."

"Will you let me top you up? If nothing else you'll sleep and then I can shower without having to worry about you."

"Fine, but you have to shower and get something to eat and you have to go to your office and have a sleep and it has to be at least four hours," House told him, making sure that Wilson understood there would be no negotiation about this.

"I'd argue with you but you've got that look." Wilson pushed the meds and leaned over and gave Greg a kiss on the cheek. "I'll see you in a few hours, have me paged if you need me."

"I will. Sleep well," Greg told him, not minding the affection in the kiss and watching as his boyfriend finally left to look after himself for a change. He settled back against the pillows, letting the pain medication flow through his veins and started flicking through the TV. Something would have to amuse him for the time Wilson was gone. 


	19. Chapter 19

It was another three or so weeks before House was allowed home – he endured chemo, numerous tests and many other things that he saw no point in, but which obviously put Wilson at ease and he couldn't see the point in refusing and upsetting his boyfriend.

BOYFRIEND…yeah, he'd thought a lot about that over his time in the hospital, how someone like him could be blessed with someone like Wilson, because he was, blessed, that is. Wilson stayed with him as he puked his guts up after chemo. He stayed during the small infections that ran him into the ground. He stayed when the pain got some much for him he felt like breaking his own hand again just to get the edge of it. But mostly, he stayed even when House was pushing him away as hard he possibly could. It made him doubt whether he was over with relationships or whether he was over relationships that just didn't involve Wilson.

"Your chariot awaits," Wilson said, appearing in the doorway with a wheelchair. When he'd first suggested it, House had told him to stick it somewhere, but after much persuading and the reminder that he'd been stuck in bed for close to a much with only in patient PT to stop his muscles from wasting away. Wilson told him that it would be a long time before he was walking distances on his cane and do just accept it and sit in the damn wheelchair.

House grinned at the memory of Wilson being firm with him and had to suppress a giggle at what they had planned for later on. Their very own form on PT.

"You know something?" he asked Wilson as he was helped into the wheelchair by his soon to be lover.

"What's that?" Wilson replied, being careful as he lifted House's right leg onto the foot supports.

"I think I love you."

Wilson gave his a funny look.

"What?" House asked, returning the look.

"I swear that surgeon took more than the tumour, you seem nicer."

"And that's a problem?" House asked, he was now face to face with Wilson who was tying the belt around his middle so that House couldn't possibly fall out from the ride to his room to the car.

"No," Wilson said, then after some thought added," it just takes a little getting used to." Then he closed the gap between them and kissed him. 


End file.
